Just Drink A Little
by JamKaraLee47
Summary: “This isn’t living, this isn’t real.” Vaughn talks to his dead girlfriend (11)


Title: Just Drink A Little  
  
Author: Coffee Crazy  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Time: Post Telling  
  
Disclaimer: Damn that Bad Robot  
  
Summary: "This isn't living, this isn't real." Vaughn talks to his dead girlfriend (1/1)  
  
A/N: My take on what Vaughn would be going through. I wrote through an entire Episode of Alias, so I hope this is good.  
  
I've still got sand in my shoes and I can't shake the thought of you. I should get on, forget you but why would I want to -Dido  
  
Every night, he stumbles into the musty crowd of alcoholics and greets Rick, the bartender. By now they're on a first name basis. He resides by the bar awaiting his friends Johnny Walker, Jack Daniels, and Sam Adams. Sits to the side, just far enough to be aloof, but close enough to slur his order to the bartender. He does this night after night, praying for the rare occurrence of the siren in the red dress.  
  
Hours and drinks pour on, until he rises to leave. Silently, he curses his damn foolishness.  
  
Then amidst the smoke rising from the dark pool hall, a figure steps into the light. She has on her constant little number. Dressed in a slinky red dress and matching prada heels, she pulls out the stool next to him and lies her purse on the table. He pretends to ignore her presence, but the curve in her lips refuses to acknowledge his desperate attempts.  
  
The drumming of her fingers resounds on the wooden bar. A habit of hers he always used to put up with, until he reaches a drunken stupor, eventually causes him to snap, "You're late."  
  
"I hope you're not sober," she point-blankly states," I can't show up when you're sober." She ends her sentence with a genuine dimple smile.  
  
He sighs indifferently and moves on to lighter subjects, "I hear its going to be sunny tomorrow."  
  
"Vaughn."  
  
"I was also thinking about buying a Ford Focus. Weiss is always telling me how reliable they are."  
  
A worried look replaces her smile as it fades, and he's beginning to miss the glow from her face.  
  
"Vaughn," she hesitates, yet continues on, "we have to talk."  
  
She gives him the I-mean-business look. It's the same one, she used to don during missions and for one minute he feels as if it were the good ole times.  
  
His voice is cracking. Holding back the tears he says, "Syd, please. Give us one more moment."  
  
She nods and normalcy settles in. "How's Donovan?"  
  
"He's fine. He's staying at Weiss' for now." He chuckles, "Syd, you should see how fat he is. At the going rate he should be the size of a small pony by the end of the month."  
  
The conversation weans on. They discuss ordinary topics, little things that most people take for granted. He mentions the movies that are being released. Even jokes that he was so drunk he wasted ten bucks for a ticket to Gigli. Her laugh brightens the dank room and he can picture the last time they talked like this.  
  
***  
  
He remembers being in the grocery store buying cereal. He glanced over the selection before deciding on the Fruit Loops.  
  
"You know, I always liked Lucky Charms better. The jingle is just so catchy."  
  
He turned to see her stretching over her cart for a box. He grinned at her struggle and reached for the Lucky Charms. Gingerly putting the carton into her cart he asked, "How's it go, hearts, stars and horseshoes-"  
  
"-Clovers and blue moons. Pots of gold and rainbow, and me red balloons," she chimed in a Scottish accent.  
  
Immediately afterwards a short awkward silence settled in. He shuffled the items in his shopping cart before saying, "I've missed this."  
  
She bashfully tucked a strand of stray hair behind her ear, "Me, too."  
  
"I've missed you more," he sighed  
  
"I know."  
  
When she exits the aisle, he chased after her almost expecting her to jump into his arms. Five minutes later, the stock boy noticed the grown man sobbing in the frozen foods.  
  
***  
  
That's why he tries to keep up the discussion, despite tripping over words and losing his train of thought. He simply wants to bask in her presence at little bit longer. She recognizes this and pities him. She begins to bite her lip and raises a hand to caress his cheek.  
  
"You're killing yourself," she weakly attempts to joke.  
  
"It doesn't matter anymore. I like being with you..even if its just for a few precious minutes, Syd. It doesn't matter if we meet in a bar or at the grocery store. Hell, not even in the men's bathroom. When I'm sober, its like I'm lost. I can't find my way out of this tunnel of darkness. Syd, you're my light that guides me out of that dark. I can't live without you."  
  
She lowers her hand and motions to the bar nearly empty. "This isn't living, this isn't real."  
  
As soon as he's about to retort, she brushed two of her fingers to his lips, pleading for him to accept the truth. "You can't hide here any longer. And you probably don't want to hear that tomorrow's another day. However, the sun will rise and everyone will go on with their everyday lives. You will move on because I won't be here anymore like this."  
  
She entwines her hand with his, giving him one more brief encounter with perfection. She rises from the bar, carefully placing a crisp twenty under his glass. She nods at Rick and swiftly heads for the door.  
  
He strains his eyes to watch her depart, but he blinks and in that moment she disappears.  
  
***  
  
"Hey, Mike. It's closing time. Get up."  
  
When he wakes, he feels the consequences of too much alcohol. He wipes away sleep from his eyes and peels a sticky bar tab from the side of his face. He struggles to zoom the numbers on the paper into focus, until relenting.  
  
"Rick, how much do I owe you?"  
  
Continuing to sweep the mop across the dirtied floor, "You're girlfriend paid for it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Yeah, don't you remember? That brunette in the red number. Damn she was fine," he says taking a minute to look at the bemused look on Vaughn's face.  
  
Vaughn drowns a swig from the bottle slamming it down. He hears the clank of glass colliding with wood affirming his hearing is still decent.  
  
"Thanks for the drink," genuinely smiling. Halfway to the door he stops and smirks, "Hey Rick."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Don't wait up for me tomorrow."  
  
And for the first time in two years, he can earnestly say Tomorrow's going to be another day.  
  
AN: After 6 months of writer's bock, STEPHIE'S BACK BABY! 


End file.
